


An Investigation

by cirnelle



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Case Fic, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Spoilers for FBaWtFT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9877121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirnelle/pseuds/cirnelle
Summary: MACUSA's been tracking a smuggling ring for months, and the case has ground to a standstill. Percival Graves goes into the field to investigate and runs into Newt Scamander, back in New York and hot on the trail of a group of Occamy poachers. Both sets of clues seem to be leading them in the same direction...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-movie. (Therefore: warning for spoilers for the end of the movie.)

 

 

Percival Graves pushed the door of the conference room open and, nodding at his top team of Senior Aurors already gathered in the room, closed the door behind him and took a seat at the head of the table.

“Go ahead, Branson,” he said to the Auror on his right, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and bright blue eyes. John Branson, Percival’s second-in-command, nodded and opened the folio in front of him. “You’re all already aware,” he began, “that we’ve been tracking the smuggling of Class B Tradeable materials – such as Romanian Longhorn horns and Erumpent Exploding Fluid – for some time. The volume of smuggled items has risen sharply in recent months, and, to make things worse, the type of items being smuggled seems to have become much more varied as well.”

Tina Goldstein, sitting on Branson’s other side, flipped her own folder open. “We’ve also found five different custom-made Dark potions being sold, and at least two instances of Class A Non-Tradeables – Acromantula eggs – being smuggled. These were initially thought to be completely separate cases, but the material seems to be moving along exactly the same channels, so now we’re assuming they’re all linked unless we discover otherwise.”

“We’ve had no luck tracing where the profits of this operation were going until now,” continued Rita Williams, a green-eyed brunette a few years older than Tina. “We managed to trace one of the Acromantula eggs a few days ago – the reason we’ve been having so much trouble locating the items is because they’re being passed through No-Maj channels.”

“The profits are being laundered through No-Maj antique shops, to be precise,” added Daniel King, the last member of the group. “We’ve narrowed the potential culprits to lie within a certain radius, although we’re not certain of the exact shop – or shops – involved yet. We’ve had to move very cautiously so we don’t alert the smugglers or the No-Majs to our presence.”

“We have to move faster.” Percival scowled, running a hand through his dark hair. “The fact that they’re ramping this operation up so aggressively means they’re either very confident they won’t get caught, or they’re preparing for something big. Neither option is acceptable.”

He turned to King and Williams. “How many shops have you narrowed it down to?”

“About ten, maybe fifteen, sir,” replied King.

“Since they’re laundering their profits through No-Maj shops,” said Percival, “we’ll send someone in posing as a No-Maj to search the shops.”

“That... _could_ work,” said Branson thoughtfully. “The smugglers will be on the lookout for other wizards. They wouldn’t suspect a No-Maj.” The other Aurors nodded in agreement.

“Right, that’s settled then,” Percival said decisively. “Williams, King, I want a list of all those shops, and as many details as you can give me about them, on my desk by this afternoon. Goldstein, please acquire a No-Maj police uniform for me from Disguises. Branson, you’re in charge for the duration of my undercover op.”

Everyone stared at their Head Auror. “ _You’re_ going?” Tina said, hurriedly tacking on a “sir?” at the end of her question.

“Problem, Goldstein?” Percival raised an eyebrow at her. She promptly snapped her mouth shut.

“All right,” said Percival. “Dismissed.”

There was a general shuffle towards the door, Williams and King discussing in low voices the report they had to write up for Percival. Tina followed close behind them, slipping off to Disguises to get Percival’s uniform. Branson lingered behind with Percival. He was grinning, blue eyes crinkled in amusement.

“You can’t blame ‘em for being surprised,” he said to Percival, chuckling. “This isn’t exactly a job for the Head Auror, you know.”

“I’m well aware,” Percival informed him dryly. “However, it’ll do me good to get back in the field after being locked up in Grindelwald’s damned basement for Merlin knows how long. Bloody bastard never even cleaned the place, it was _filthy_ down there.”

“Poor baby,” Branson said, straight-faced. “Got some dirt on those expensive robes of yours, then?”

“Very funny.” Percival scowled. “Although I suppose I should be grateful that the worst of my suffering under Grindelwald involved a months-long bout of dust-induced hay fever.” He sighed. “Also, if the Junior Aurors don’t stop bringing me coffee and looking at me like they’re on the verge of bursting into tears, I’m going to hex someone.”

“They look up to you,” Branson said. “It really upset them that we didn’t realize that you weren’t, well, _you,_ for months.”

“ _Fifteen_ coffees, Branson.”

“Hmm?”

“We have fifteen Junior Aurors. Every single one of them, without fail, brings me a coffee every day, then stands there and stares at me tearfully for five minutes before leaving. It’s like some kind of weird offering to a cruel and unforgiving god. What am I to do with fifteen cups of coffee and a bunch of distraught Aurors?”

“Sounds like some kind of bizarre riddle.” Branson chuckled, then sobered, shifting uncomfortably. “To be honest, this isn’t sitting too well with us Senior Aurors, either. We’d just assumed you were being distant because you were busy.” Branson shook his head then, looking frustrated. “I’ve been a terrible friend, Percival, and for that, I apologize.”

“Not you, too,” grumbled Percival, but he gripped Branson’s arm briefly. “Look, John, I don’t blame any of you for this. It’s all water under the bridge now. If anything, I never should have been careless enough to let myself get captured in the first place.”

“How did that happen, anyway?” Branson asked curiously.

“I was in bed – _alone_ , before you make any salacious remarks,” – and here Branson held both hands up in a gesture of surrender, smirking – as Percival continued. “The bastard broke through my wards and I was just a hair too slow to react, and he Petrified me and carted me right off.” Percival looked deeply indignant at the memory.

“Maybe some fieldwork is in order after all,” Branson snickered. “Looks like your reflexes could use some work.”

 

***

 

After lunch, Percival returned to his office and nodded in approval as he saw Williams and King’s report, neatly written up and sitting on his desk. Next to it was a wrapped parcel with his name scrawled on it in Goldstein’s handwriting, presumably his disguise.

He spent a quick half hour reading through the report, then some simple spellwork took care of creating the necessary documentation for a newly-transferred No-Maj cop. That taken care of, Percival picked up the parcel, untying it and taking out a neatly-pressed No-Maj policeman’s uniform. He locked his office door, changed into the uniform and considered. Goldstein had done a decent job on guessing his size. A little tight overall, but not too bad. 

He briefly toyed with the idea that he had gained a little weight since his release from Grindelwald’s captivity, then dismissed the idea. He’d eaten a little more recently to compensate for the absolutely _horrible_ food he’d been given while imprisoned, sure, but he’d also worked out. A lot. He’d started pretending that his opponents in all his practice duels were Grindelwald – it had been greatly satisfying annihilating every last one of them in the duels, but recently everyone at MACUSA had started begging out of duels with him. The last one – a fairly junior Auror – had looked ready to burst into tears at the mere suggestion of a practice duel. Cowards.

He unlocked his office door and strode out into the bullpen where the other Senior Aurors were seated, muttering under his breath about how these pants were so tight his wand would barely fit in them. Four pairs of eyes followed his progress across the room.

There was a long silence.

“For a man who’s done nothing but sit in a basement for months, his physique sure hasn’t suffered one bit,” Branson observed in an undertone.

“Mmm,” agreed Tina and Williams dreamily in unison.

“To be fair, the basement was Grindelwald’s fault, not his,” murmured King. He smirked over at Tina appreciatively. “ _Great_ job on the sizing, Goldstein.”

Tina blushed.

There was a collective sigh of loss as Percival’s ass finally disappeared out the door.

 

***

 

Getting registered as a No-Maj police officer had been a breeze. Percival had made sure – magically, of course – that his name had been listed on their books as an upcoming transfer, and his meticulously forged transfer papers had been accepted with no protest, apart from the head of the division grumbling about never being informed of these things ahead of time.

That accomplished, Percival headed out of the police station, mentally plotting the most efficient route he could take to get to the first shop he needed to search. He was just about to go around the corner when he noticed a slight disturbance out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw a tall man with green eyes and messy red hair standing in the middle of the sidewalk gaping at him. Other passers-by on the busy sidewalk were grumbling under their breath as they tried to push past him.

Percival squinted at him. He looked familiar – _ah_. Newt Scamander. That face had been on practically every report he’d had to read in the months following his release. Percival had worked with Theseus Scamander – his counterpart in Britain’s Ministry of Magic and Newt Scamander’s older brother – a number of times and they’d become pretty close friends, but while Theseus talked about his little brother constantly, Percival had never actually met Newt Scamander. He also owed the younger Scamander a debt of gratitude, he supposed, because if not for him, Percival might still be cooling his heels in Grindelwald’s thrice-damned basement.

Scamander hadn’t moved. He was still standing there, gaping at Percival. The passers-by he was blocking were starting to look ready to riot. Stifling a sigh, Percival strode over, took Scamander’s elbow in a firm but gentle grip, and tugged him over to the corner, where they wouldn’t be blocking anyone’s way.

“Newt Scamander, I presume,” he said.

“Yes. Um. That’s me. Hi,” said Scamander, twitching nervously. “We’ve never met – well, we have, but it wasn’t actually you at the time, so I guess we haven’t met.”

As Percival was trying to parse this convoluted sentence, Scamander’s gaze traveled all the way down his body, then back up slowly, and stopped somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

“Hey. Scamander.” He snapped his fingers. “Eyes up here.”

Scamander started and guiltily snapped his gaze up to Percival’s face. “Um. Right, right,” he said hastily.

He seemed to be having some trouble focusing on Percival’s face. Damn Goldstein and her bad estimation of Percival’s clothes size, anyway. He should’ve resized the clothes _before_ leaving the office; now that he was stuck out in the middle of No-Maj territory he didn’t want to do anything to attract unwanted attention, and going by the way Scamander’s gaze was lingering, he thought he probably looked rather ridiculous in this tight uniform.

“Um,” said Scamander again. “Why are you dressed like, a, ah,” he gestured to Percival’s uniform.

“I’m undercover,” Percival informed him.

“As a...Muggle...police officer?"

“Muggle? – oh. No-Maj. Yes. And how about yourself, Mr. Scamander? Last I heard, you’d returned to London.”

“Oh – I’m tracking Occamy poachers,” Scamander said, perking up. “Occamy eggs are made of pure silver, you see, and recently, a lot of eggs have gone missing, and I followed the trail here...” he trailed off and looked like he regretted saying anything at all, slanting Percival a wary look.

“I don’t know what That-Idiot-Who-Stole-My-Face did to you,” said Percival – and this prompted a startled laugh to bubble out of Scamander, his green eyes crinkling attractively at the corners – “but I have no quarrel with you as long as you don’t break any laws while you’re in New York, Mr. Scamander.”

“Um, okay,” said Scamander, shuffling his feet nervously. “And please, call me Newt.”

“Please also accept my personal thanks...Newt,” said Percival, a little stiffly, “for your part in capturing Grindelwald. Without your assistance, I would most likely still be sitting around in Grindelwald’s basement.”

 “I’m really glad they found you,” Newt said, eyes wide and sincere.

“So am I,” Percival said dryly. “Expiring of hunger or thirst in Grindelwald’s filthy basement would have been a rather ignominious way to go.”

Newt laughed.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Newt,” said Percival. “But I’m afraid I have to run – I’m on a case at the moment.”

“Oh!” said Newt, nodding. “Of course. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Graves.”

Percival nodded politely to Newt, then turned and headed round the corner. It took him a few minutes to realize that Newt was trotting along behind him, humming softly to himself.

Percival turned around, tilting his head slightly at Newt. “Something I can help you with?”

Newt blinked at him. “No? I guess we’re heading in the same direction.”

“Ah,” said Percival, then paused. “Well, in that case, I suppose we might as well walk together.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

A ten-minute stroll and some pleasant conversation later, Percival and Newt found themselves outside a small, decrepit-looking No-Maj antique shop. A barely-legible sign announcing the place as “VINTAGE HOME” hung precariously askew on a pair of rusty nails.

“I believe this is where we part ways,” Percival said, turning to Newt. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Scamander.”

“Newt,” his companion corrected him.

Percival’s lips quirked. “Newt,” he agreed. Glancing around quickly to make sure they weren’t being observed, he slipped his wand out from his (very tight) pants with some difficulty and cast a quick glamor charm on himself, so any wizarding smugglers he might run into wouldn’t immediately recognize him as Percival Graves, Head Auror of MACUSA and Harbinger of their Doom. He pursed his lips, pondering, then added a Notice-Me-Not charm too, just to be on the safe side.

“Um,” said Newt, watching him with some fascination, “if you’re planning to go into that – ” he cast the broken-down storefront a doubtful glance, “ – shop, that’s actually where I’m headed as well.”

Percival frowned at him. “You are?”

Newt nodded vigorously. “One of the clues I’ve been following up on pointed me here.”

“Huh,” said Percival. “I’d prefer not to involve a civilian in this operation, but from what I’ve heard of you, I have the feeling that you’re going to go in there whether I want you to or not.”

“What have you heard about me?” Newt asked curiously, tipping his head to one side rather like an inquisitive puppy.

“That you are quite – persistent, shall we say, when on one of your investigations.” Percival grinned wryly. “And as it was this persistence which liberated me from Grindelwald’s basement, it would be rather ungrateful of me to complain.”

“Oh.” Newt looked surprised.

Percival raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“That’s not the reaction I usually get,” Newt said. “Most people find me annoying,” he told Percival candidly.

Percival chuckled, unwillingly charmed by Newt’s frankness. “Well, in my department at least, persistence is considered an asset.”

He eyed the bright blue coat Newt was wearing doubtfully. “You’re way too noticeable in that coat, though. If we’re going in together, it’s probably best that you go in as my partner, so I’ll have to cast a glamor charm to make your clothes look like mine.” He raised his wand hand, gesturing at Newt’s coat. “If I may?”

Newt blinked at Percival, then seemed to catch on. “Oh! Just a minute, please.” He hurriedly took his coat off, folding it up with the utmost care. “It’s a gift from my brother,” he explained to Percival, bending over to tenderly tuck the coat inside the bag he was carrying, “and I don’t...really like having spells cast on it.”

He straightened up, looking sheepish. “It’s silly, I know...it’s not like the spells would _harm_ it or anything.”

Percival shook his head. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of treasuring a precious gift.” He smiled slightly. “I’ve had the opportunity to work with your brother on a few cases, by the way. A very good man, and a brilliant Auror.”

Newt perked up, looking every inch the proud younger brother. “Isn’t he?” he said, beaming.

Percival stifled a grin, recalling the exact same expression on Theseus’ face every time he talked about his younger brother. “May I?” he said, raising his wand again.

Newt nodded, and Percival cast the same glamor and Notice-Me-Not charms on Newt that he’d cast on himself. Newt’s uniform, since it was a glamor, fit perfectly, unlike Percival’s. Percival mentally sighed, shifted a little in his very tight uniform and decided to forgo authenticity in favor of comfort the next time he was in disguise.

Together, they approached the dilapidated entrance of the shop, Percival pushing the door open. A little bell jingled cheerily above their heads as they entered.

A burly, bearded man looked up from where he was sitting at the counter, chin in hand. “Welcome to Vintage Home,” he intoned.

Percival strode up to the counter, taking out his fake No-Maj police identification. “There’s been a spate of robberies in this area,” he said to the man at the counter. “My partner and I have been assigned to check all the stores in this district to ensure that everything is in order.”

“No break-ins here,” the man grunted. “Hardly anything worth stealing, if you ask me.” He waved an airy hand in the general direction of the shelves. “Have at it.”

Percival and Newt exchanged glances, then looked at the man, who had resumed leaning his chin on his hand and staring off into space. Percival shrugged and moved to the far end of the shop to start his search, leaving Newt to check the near end. He discreetly dug the Silent Sneakoscope he’d brought with him – specially modified by MACUSA to issue a silent alarm instead of whistling like a regular Sneakoscope when it detected Dark magic – out of his pocket and started poking around the shelves. Occasionally he glanced over at Newt, who seemed to be muttering to himself, as he searched the other end of the shop, but things didn’t look promising – the younger man didn’t seem to be turning up anything suspicious, either.

An hour later, they were forced to admit defeat, and left the shop with a polite nod to the man at the counter. Just outside the store, Percival glanced up at the sky, which was getting dark. He’d spent most of the day getting administrative work done at the No-Maj police station before starting on his search, and there was no point continuing now as the stores would all be closing.

“I’m going to head home now and continue searching tomorrow,” he told his companion.

Newt nodded. “I’ll head back to my hotel, too. Good night, Mr. Graves.”

“Good night, Mr. Scamander.”

“Newt,” the younger man corrected him.

“Good night, Newt.”

 

***

 

The next morning, Percival, back in his No-Maj police uniform, turned up bright and early on the doorstep of the next store he’d meant to search, only to run into Newt about to open the door of the exact same store.

They stared at each other.

“Let me guess,” Percival said dryly. “Next stop on the Occamy poacher trail?”

Newt nodded, and beamed at Percival a little nervously.

Percival sighed. “Take your coat off,” he said.

“Uh?” said Newt.

Percival stuck his hand into his pocket, struggling a little to draw his wand out of the front pocket of his very tight pants, which he just realized he had forgotten to resize. Again. “I suppose we’re going to be partners for the duration of this,” he said resignedly.

Newt’s gaze was seemingly irresistibly drawn to Percival’s wrestling with his wand, then realizing he was essentially staring at Percival’s crotch, he blushed furiously and focused on struggling out of his coat instead.

After Newt had had the appropriate glamor and Notice-Me-Not spells cast on him again, they commenced their search for the day. Between them they managed to cover five stores, none of which contained the merest hint of anything suspicious.

Percival sighed, stretching luxuriously to work out the kinks in his shoulders after a long day mostly spent hunched over dusty shelves. Newt eyed him, licked his lips nervously then looked away quickly. As Percival was trying to work the Silent Sneakoscope back into his pants pocket, though, Newt looked back over, his eyes bright with curiosity.

“Did you get that custom-made?” he asked inquisitively. “I haven’t noticed it making any noise. Or is that just because we haven’t found anything Dark yet?”

“We modified it at MACUSA so that it gives us silent alerts,” said Percival, handing it over. Newt turned it over in his hands, examining it minutely. “It wouldn’t be of much use to us if it started blaring alarms whenever it gets near Dark magic,” he added wryly.

Newt laughed. “No, it wouldn’t,” he agreed, handing the Silent Sneakoscope back to Percival.

“And actually,” added Percival, “I haven’t asked you how you’re detecting any Dark magic yet.”

“Oh!” Newt blinked, hesitated, then reached into his front pocket. He’d dropped the glamor and put his coat back on once they’d exited the last shop for the day; when he drew his hand back out from beneath the lapel of his coat, there was a small, green stick resting on it.

Percival leaned over and peered at it. The stick gave a small squeak, and scuttled to hide behind Newt’s finger.

“Hmm. That’s a Bowtruckle, right?” asked Percival.

Newt nodded. “His name is Pickett.” He cooed at the creature, which peered out from behind his finger and stared suspiciously at Percival.

“Hello, Pickett,” Percival said solemnly. Pickett glared up at him, and crossed his little green branch-like arms.

“Don’t be like that!” Newt scolded the Bowtruckle. “He’s a friend!”

Pickett didn’t look convinced.

Newt turned to Percival. “Bowtruckles are very sensitive to magic,” he explained. “Pickett here will tell me if he senses any Dark magic while we’re searching those stores.”

Percival nodded. “It may be a long time ago, but I do remember learning about them when I was at Ilvermorny.” He tipped his head to one side thoughtfully. “Well, this explains why I thought I kept seeing you talking to yourself while we were searching.”

Newt laughed. “Pickett gets bored when we’re searching all day,” he explained. “So I talk to him sometimes, to keep him awake.” The Bowtruckle nodded vigorously at this.

“Well,” Percival said dryly, “I can’t say I disagree with him regarding the results of our search so far.”

Newt looked at Percival curiously. “Actually...I still don’t even know what you’re searching for.”

“Well,” said Percival. “Some of the details are classified, but I suppose I can tell you a little about the case if you’re interested.”

“Oh!” Newt perked up. “Yes, I’d love to hear it! Maybe you could tell me over dinner?” He stopped talking abruptly and looked away, flushing slightly. “If you’d like, that is,” he added quickly, not meeting Percival’s eyes.

Scamander really was quite adorable when he blushed like that, thought Percival a little distractedly. He bit his lip to stifle a chuckle when Pickett stared at Newt, then turned to Percival and shook his little head sadly at him.

 _Well…why not._ “Sure,” Percival said with a small smile. “Dinner it is.”

 

[TBC]

 


End file.
